Last week, in solidarity with the #March2Justice, I abstained from public transit and spending money. (Learn more at http://www.march2justice.com).
I rode the subway again for the first time when my fast ended at midnight last night. It was rush-hour crowded, and I was stuck between a DJ making a new song at full volume on his laptop and two White women discussing break-ups (“I don’t think we’ll be friends again, but I think we’ll be friendly, you know?” “Totally.”) Then, this dude got on and started dancing along to the beats. I was like, How annoying! until I realized we were wearing the same shoes. And then, we got off at the same stop. We are neighbors. He could live in my building. We could have everything in common…
(I really missed the subway.)
This morning I got on the train and listened to a mom teach her daughters about empathy (“How would you feel if someone said something like that to you? Always think about that before you say something. You have to find a way to express your thoughts without being hurtful.”) and setting boundaries (“You teach people how to treat you. If somebody does something to you that you don’t like, you have to let them know it’s not OK, otherwise they’ll keep doing it.”)
To my left there was a dad holding up a laughing baby so the baby could hold on to the rail, and to my right was a high-school student doing his physics homework. At the next stop a woman got on wearing a shade of lipstick I’d never seen before (somehow pink, orange, and red all at once!).
As nice as it is to be aboveground in the spring, there is no place in New York more beautiful and perfect than the subway. And nobody can tell me otherwise.